Summary: The Doctor is going to guest star on a cooking show, but I'm not sure it's such a good idea
Summary: The Doctor is going to guest star on a cooking show, but I'm not sure it's such a good idea...
Crossover; Doctor Who (10) and Keith Floyd's cooking show. (Floyd's American Pie, 1989.)
This, not much more than a vignette, is the ludicrous result of a debate between my boyfriend and me, regarding the weirdest possible crossover to make without going into animations, cartoons, comics or complex bisexual behaviour. Read it and judge for yourself. Feel free to take it as a challenge!
Beta by both said boyfriend and Patrice J.
Floyd on Time
By KimotoCat
Part 1 – It's Going On in the Kitchen
"The thing you really need in Arizona is – of course – lots and lots of really juicy prickly pear cactus pads," the mild looking man declared with a flourish and a smile, proffering a wooden tray with an impressive pile of said fruit towards a camera as if the dark piece of machinery should suddenly spring to life and have a go at it. The man carrying the camera bent closer, zooming in on the shining slices, allowing the image to fill the screen entirely.
"There you go," the man behind the outdoor gas stove continued, putting the tray back onto the makeshift kitchen table. "Tomato, garlic, parsley, chives." He gestured at each vegetable as he presented them, proceeding to a bowl of dark, diced meat. "And as the stars of the table, these very fine chunks of pork loin, just waiting along with the prickly pear and this particularly fruity white wine to become part of an extraordinarily sumptuous dish! And, speaking of the white wine, a superb Chardonnay, it would be most appropriate with a quick slurp, I think. Testing the ingredients, as it were!"
He did.
After making absolutely sure that the wine was, in fact, a very tasty Chardonnay and declaring this to the patient camera, the man poured a generous drizzle of oil on the pan and started frying various ingredients in order to produce yet another marvellous meal, making it look easy to the people at home. This would, hopefully, turn into yet another interesting and appetizing episode of "Floyd's American Pie", the popular British cooking programme with the liberal drinker, casual cook and full time connoisseur Keith Floyd at the centre of things.
Right now, Floyd was situated with his portable kitchen at the edge of a picturesque clump of cliffs, known by locals as Picacho Peak, situated somewhere in what was supposed to be the wilder parts of Arizona. It wasn't terribly far from the city of Tucson, not by any local standards, but it was sufficiently wild for the area to be roamed by snakes that local people had assured the team to be 'harmless king snakes' and for the nearby foothills to be infested with several kinds of poisonous and potentially lethal critters.
This colourful background did little to distract the tanned Brit from his primary task of cooking the veal. He had, in his career, been attacked by ostriches, forced to taste squids (which he loathed), and have heated quarrels with various chefs regarding how and where to cook, so having dangerous wildlife and stingers nearby did not disturb his relaxed self assuredness. It meant no more than the throng (again, by local standards) of bystanders just outside of the camera's angle, curiously following his meticulous and innovative approach to their native ingredients.
"Add salt and pepper and allow it to simmer for about … half an hour," he finished, smiling triumphantly to the camera as he placed a lid on top of the steaming pot, managing to swig just a little more of that excellent Chardonnay in a nice, casual manoeuvre, before Clive the Cameraman, switched off.
"So much for part one," the cook said with a smile, downing the last of the Chardonnay. "We'll let this simmer away, do some rice with it and be ready for the next scene in, what, twenty eight minutes?"
The cameraman nodded and put down the heavy camera. He was used to it, but in the warm climate and with the hand-held concept of the show, he still had a tendency towards sore shoulders after a take. And this particular dish had caused him to feel as if it had been days, not mere hours, since his last meal.
"Doctor McKenzie will be here shortly," David Pritchard, the producer said. "He's been delayed, but he should be here in time to taste the stew. We've set up a table over here by the good looking cacti."
"It's a casserole, thank you very much," Floyd growled, but there was no real menace in his snarl as he headed for the nearby camper. "I'm going to get some shadow and freshen up a bit. The table looks nice, but I hope this McKenzie bloke will be here in time. The casserole can overcook, you know. If he doesn't show up, we'll have to force it upon a local to taste it."
"Mr. McKenzie is a local," David said pointedly. "But he was summoned by somebody outside town, you know, a patient of sorts."
"I suppose that's what he is really here for," Floyd muttered as he ducked into the camper, savouring the shade and cool after the intense warmth over the portable gas stove. "I just hope it isn't a harmless rattler bite or some such," he finished before closing the door and turning the air conditioner up, just a notch.
-:-
The smell of the food was wonderful and the view over the rugged hills did little to disturb the desolate scenery. There was a small town nearby, but the area of Picacho Peak itself was, according to Mr. Lewis, a local man who had assisted in finding a good spot for the recording, a maze of rock formations, steep hills and dangerous passages.
Keith Floyd took the time to rest himself, knowing that even if he had managed to get a tan, he still should take care to avoid the worst of the Arizona sun. They were recording in the late afternoon to avoid midday heat, but it was still somewhat beyond what he was used to.
Refreshed from his air conditioned rest and a bottle of spring water, he exited the camper to check on his food, only to find David in a state.
"Still not a sign of Doctor McKenzie," he huffed impatiently. "The table's set, the salad is tossed and we can roll the rest, but today's guest of honour is nowhere to be seen."
"Can we find a substitute?" Floyd asked.
"I guess we'll have to. Look, can you do the 'food finished' bit now? Then we'll see what we can do with that and perhaps the local mechanic wouldn't mind having a go. By the looks of it, he eats well."
"I'll do my best," Floyd offered, putting on his apron and approaching the stove. "Looks ready, Clive, it is time!"
The cameraman hoisted his camera and came to the stove where the cook was ready. With practiced ease, he rolled the camera and closely followed as Keith Floyd gestured and explained.
"And now, thanks to the wonderful magic of television, the casserole is almost finished. The rice is, as you can see, quite ready and the pot just needs a little adjustment." Here he nibbled at a spoonful of the steaming casserole and licked his lips with a wide grin. "The only necessary adjustment here is a pinch of pepper and perhaps just a spot of salt. There!"
Just as the television chef gestured at his bubbling pot, a wheezing and groaning noise penetrated from the cliffs near the village. Floyd frowned and tried to ignore the asthmatic stutter, stirring the pot with energetic moves.
Floyd on Time
By KimotoCat
Part 2 – But Who knows what's Cooking?
Just as the television chef gestured at his bubbling pot, a wheezing and groaning noise penetrated from the cliffs near the village. Floyd frowned and tried to ignore the asthmatic stutter, stirring the pot with energetic moves…
"I don't think it got in," David mouthed at the agitated cook.
"We're in the wild here. And we are, in fact, doing this in one recording. These are real people and this is real food – and the real sounds of the wild are bound to be heard," Floyd informed the camera, obviously suspecting that the wheezing, which had now ground to a halt, actually had been caught on tape.
"I hereby declare this veal casserole fit for human consumption!" he announced. "And that, ladies and gentlemen at home, calls for a celebration."
Clive followed the cook as he took a solid swig from the glass of Chardonnay, beaming triumphantly at the camera.
"Oh, do excuse me," the voice of a stranger cut in, appearing on exactly the first frame which would be edited out anyway. "Am I interrupting something?" he went on, only now discovering the camera, the boomer and the slightly flustered producer as well as the other people forming the crew of Floyd's American Pie.
A man in a dark brown pin striped suit came striding towards the set. His hair was in disarray and his bespectacled eyes were twinkling in an unsettling fashion as if he knew a really good secret that nobody else had the slightest inkling about.
"And who the… Who are you?" David asked sharply, approaching the stranger with a menacing look. "You almost f… messed up the shot!"
"Oh, I do apologise. I'm the Doctor and I was kind of… well… it's kind of embarrassing, really." He stopped, looking somewhat at a loss.
"The Doctor?" David exclaimed, gesturing at Clive the Cameraman. "Well, why didn't you just say so? Com'ere and sit down, food's ready and this is the very last chance of serving this while it's still warm."
"What?"
"Sit down, sit down," David ushered the Doctor to a seat next to the small table under the picturesque clump of saguaro cacti and fixed a small microphone onto his lapel. "I hope you're hungry. Judging by the smell, I think Floyd has outdone himself! Again!"
"Floyd?" the Doctor enquired. "Keith Floyd? Of BBC fame?"
"The same," David nodded.
"But that's brilliant!" the Doctor exclaimed, a wide grin lighting up his face. "I always wanted to be on this show! Not much of a public person, me, but then, he does tend to steal the show, so no matter."
"You ready?" David asked, and then suddenly proffered a hand. "I'm David Pritchard, the cameraman is Clive and the man with the Panama hat is Keith Floyd. We'll do the rest of the introductions after the recordings, right?"
"I used to have one of those," the Doctor replied. "A Panama hat. Yes, I am sooo ready for this! Good girl, bringing me here. Always had a knack for this, she did!"
David Pritchard was not entirely certain what the Doctor was on about, but as time was running short and the fellow seemed fairly contented, he decided not to ask right now. They could have a chat afterwards if he had questions. It was good that he seemed to be a fan of Floyd, as that tended to make things go pretty smoothly.
"And camera rolling," David ordered, watching with satisfaction as Clive slipped the camera onto his shoulder and started recording. "And… Action!"
Floyd, balancing the steaming pot of pork casserole, came to the table where the rice and the salad were already served.
"Hello, Doctor McKenzie," he said, placing the pot on a trivet and offering his hand. "Pleased to meet you. I understand you were running short on time?"
"Just Doctor," was the answer. "And yes, I was out of time, I suppose. It happens sometimes. But I'm here now. Oooh, this smells delicious, what is it?"
"I've prepared a casserole of pork loin, vegetables and a fine seasoning of local herbs," Floyd explained as he scooped up food onto a plate in front of the Doctor. "This casserole has been seasoned with freshly picked prickly pear cactus pads – spines removed off course – and it's served with rice and a salad tossed with olive oil, garlic, tomatoes and sage."
"That sounds delicious!"
"Have a taste," Floyd offered, offering a full plate of neatly arranged food.
The Doctor accepted the plate with an air of worship, carefully balancing it on the tips of his long fingers while peering over the rim of his glasses with an inquisitive glare. He lifted it to his face, inhaling with his mouth slightly open as if to capture every last nuance of the scent as he continued to scrutinize the food.
With a beaming face like that of a child at Christmas, he placed the plate onto the table and picked up the cutlery with movements akin to those of a surgeon.
He plucked a piece of meat, scooped up sauce and took a bite, clearly savouring the moment.
"Just say what you think," Floyd suggested, having taken a seat next to the Doctor. "Precisely what you think, we can always edit you out later on."
"This! Has! To! Be! The! Very! Best! Pork! Casserole! I! Have! Ever! Had!" The Doctor pronounced, still chewing. "And, let me assure you, that this says something."
"You like it then? Not too much garlic?"
"One cannot overdo garlic," the Doctor said, happily munching on another bite. "Though I have been to places where people – and I use that word very liberally – tried very hard to do just that."
"I see. Central Europe or Spain, by any chance?"
"Well…" the Doctor tilted his head and briefly seemed to consider. "I have been to central Europe and Spain, but they all knew how to treat garlic. I had the most wonderful gulyás once in Györ in the Northernmost of Hungary."
"Oh yes, goulash," Floyd replied. "Excellent use of paprika."
Well, they did invent it, the Hungarians," the Doctor nodded. "They should know what to do with it. But, unless I'm very much mistaken, there's no such thing as paprika in this casserole?"
"Quite right. Pork, seasoned with lots of vegetables and herbs, including the native prickly pear cactus pads and a most generous dash of Chardonnay."
"I haven't had pork like this since that snowy day in Barcelona. And that's not Barcelona, Spain, either," the Doctor assured the British cook. "Except, of course, it really wasn't pork at all, so I suppose that doesn't count then…"
"Have you tried the salad?" Floyd asked, taken ever so slightly aback by the Doctor's ranting. "I think it goes quite well with the casserole."
The Doctor accepted the bowl of salad and had an interested look at it as well as an intense, almost predatory sniff, before turning his attention towards the salad already on his plate and having a go at it.
"I have taken the liberty to season the salad with pili-nuts," Floyd explained as he held up the bowl of salad for the camera to see. "These are actually Philippine, but I can assure you that they are quite delicious in salads. It's a form of nut, even if not much like the nuts we enjoy in our parts of the world."
"Oh yes, I did fancy that this was the taste of pili nuts," the Doctor agreed, smacking his lips appreciatively around a mouthful of the salad. "Canarium ovatum, if I'm not mistaken."
"You know them?" Floyd did not even try to hide his amazement, having expected some outback Arizona doctor to know absolutely nothing of his ventures into the vegetables and fruits of the Far East.
"Oh yes, I know them. Burseraceae in fact, also known as…" he seemed to make a deliberate break, "torchwood," the Doctor explained, suddenly seeming slightly affronted by the salad. "I have, as a matter of fact, come across them before. Not always a tasty lot," he continued, frowning. "Can have a flavour like turpentine. Give off a nasty taste. Cause… unexpected things to happen…"
"You seem like a man who has travelled a bit," Floyd observed, his face almost not revealing how little he understood of the curious remark about the nuts and torchwood.
"Yeah, well," the Doctor shrugged and made a face. "I suppose you could say that. Been to places, seen things, dabbled," he said evasively before stuffing a big bite into his mouth.
"Could you tell the viewers at home more about that?"
"Ah, no. No, I couldn't really do that, sorry old chap. Secrecy and privacy, not to mention a lot of timey-wimey-wobbley stuff that could go really and awkwardly bad if I did," the Doctor excused around yet another bite. "You'll have to trust me on that one. Oh! This is brilliant food!"
"I'm glad you like it, because then we won't have to edit you out," Floyd delivered the almost standard joke and caused the Doctor to smile yet again.
"Could you tell us something about this wonderful, warm state then?"
"Oh, well…" the Doctor briefly seemed to search his thoughts and took the opportunity to finish the last remnants of casserole, having wolfed it down with remarkable gusto. "I suppose that this state's greatest claim to infamy would probably that time when they set off the hugest explosion in peacetime. That huge, gigantic and miserably flunked nuclear test, you know. Or so they said. Test. Of course that was not the whole truth. It never is."
"Erh… I thought that nuclear tests were conducted in Nevada?"
"Nevada? Oh no. I was talking about that time when Arizona was… wait just a sec, they done that yet?"
"Pardon me?"
"What year is this anyway?" the Doctor asked tentatively, as he reached for the salad. "We are… oh no! I've gone and done it again, haven't I?"
"I'm not sure I understand," Keith Floyd admitted, starting to rethink if it was such a good idea to have the local doctor be part of the programme. Trying to save it yet, he went on in an attempted cheery voice; "I think we'll have to edit your last comments out, the show's out of time."
"Yes…" the Doctor muttered darkly. "Yes, it is."
The End